


gone away without you

by placentalmammal



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Cuckolding, Dream Sex, F/M, Loving Marriage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Religion, Religious Guilt, Threesome - F/M/M, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 04:59:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14253540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/placentalmammal/pseuds/placentalmammal
Summary: In all of Hieron, there are only two people Hadrian could love like this.





	gone away without you

**Author's Note:**

> i love rosana, our collective oc, who is trans and super hot and could definitely bench press hadrian AND samothes and not even break a sweat

The bedroom door is ajar when Hadrian comes home. He can see Rosana through the crack, and she's not alone. She is on her back and there's someone between her legs and her mouth is open and she's making soft, sweet noises. Her breath catches when the stranger plants himself inside her and her fingers twist and clench on the headboard. Her skirts are hiked up to her waist and the stranger's hands are gripping her thick thighs, fingers digging into her flesh.

Hadrian's mind is blank and his mouth is dry and his cock is achingly hard. His first instinct is to go out the way he came, to leave Rosana and her stranger to their pleasure. He can find some privacy somewhere and take care of his own needs and come home and they can go on as if this never happened, as if he didn't find a stranger in his bed, as if the image of that stranger's hands on his wife's body hasn't just seared itself into his subconscious--

Rosana moans, loud, and Hadrian is startled out of his reverie. He crosses to the door, not particularly bothering to be quiet. He sheds his overcoat as he goes, unstraps his sword and lets it fall noisily to the floor. His wife takes no notice until he is at the door, until he is pushing it open, until he is in the room with her, watching her with another man.

Her eyes flutter open, and she smiles to see him. "Hadrian," she says, breathless, "oh _Hadrian_ , you're here--"

The man between her legs turns and Hadrian falls to his knees. He's not a stranger, Hadrian knows this man, he _knows_ this man. Lord Samothes, world-maker, god King of Hieron.

"My Lord," he says, and all his prayers die on his tongue. There are rituals, oaths, things that he must say, that he _should_ say, but Samothes' hands are on Rosana's thighs and His cock is pressed into her and Hadrian cannot speak, cannot think. His hands are shaking, he cannot form speech. He wants, he wants, he _wants_ , he wants things that he should not, things which are forbidden to him.

"My Lord," he says again, because it's all he can think to say.

Samothes, laughs. "Anchorite," he says, addressing Rosana, "does he kneel for you? Does he worship you so well?"

"Oh yes," she says. "He's devoted, he's--"

Samothes' hips press up against her. He is all the way inside her, and her words break off in a moan. Her back arches prettily, her hair tumbles over her shoulders, spills across the pillowcase. She's beautiful, they're beautiful together, his wife and his god, the only two people he has ever loved like this.

"Hadrian," she says, and he can tell she's close from the tightness and urgency of her voice. "Hadrian, come kiss me--"

When Hadrian was a boy and first considering taking the vows, he had fantasized about a divine visitation. Samothes would appear to him, drawn by the strength of his convictions and the purity of his faith. He would go to his knees and he would say, "I am yours, Lord, to do with as you will." He would be perfect and pure and would unbend only at the command of his Lord, and Samothes would be so _pleased_ with him, his humility and his obedience.

When Rosana tells him to come to her, to kiss her, he rises without a second thought. He scrambles to his feet, clumsy in his eagerness, and freezes. Samothes' eyes are on him, pinning him in place, but then Rosana moans again, and he can tell she's close.

Her voice unsticks his feet from the floor and he goes to her, cock throbbing. She reaches out blindly, fists her hand in his shirt and pulls him down to kiss him.

This kiss is unlike her. She's always so controlled, so gentle, but now she's desperate and her mouth is clumsy on his, lips and tongue and no artifice. She's warm against him, flushed and trembling against him. Hadrian has never seen her like this, half-undone and desperate with wanting. His face heats and he's burning too. He opens his eyes and looks down to where Samothes' hands grip her thighs, where His cock slips inside her. Her own arousal sits neglected on her belly, the sweet length of it dripping onto her skirts, onto the sheets.

Samothes laughs again. "He wants to touch you, Anchorite. Will you let him?"

Her eyes flutter open again and she smiles, radiant. She is so beautiful, flushed and well-fucked and still canting her hips down, still moving so desperately against their Lord.

"If it pleases you, my Lord," she says, and she gasps. She has one hand still fisted in Hadrian's shirt, the other white-knuckled on the headboard. There's tension in every line of her body, limbs taut with strain.

"It pleases me very much," He says, and He turns His burning eyes back to Hadrian.

He swallows. He can't move. The air has gone out of his lungs, his mind is caught in a loop.

"Hadrian." Rosana speaks soft, like she's trying not to spook him. He turns toward her, numb, grateful, and she is so beautiful he wants to burst. "Husband, sweet man, touch me, kiss me, I want your mouth--"

He kisses her again and touches her--a little soft, a little hesitant. He's waiting for an order, but she must have been even closer than he thought, because she comes immediately, spilling over his hand with a stifled cry. She bites down hard on his lip as she shudders through her climax, and he whimpers from pain and arousal.

He can hear Samothes, panting and he thinks distantly that He must be coming, as well. Selfishly, shamefully, Hadrian doesn't care. In that moment, Rosana, soft and wonderful beneath him, is his whole world, and her pleasure is all he cares about. Samothes may as well be a stranger then, an anonymous someone to fuck her while Hadrian tends to her other needs, while he makes use of his hands and mouth to please her.

She strokes his cheek as she comes down, gentle and unbearably tender. He loves her so much then, maybe even more than Samothes--

There's a hand on his back, gentle. Hadrian startles, turns halfway, his mouth hanging open. Samothes is smiling at him, fond and indulgent, and then His mouth is on Hadrian's. He kisses more precisely than Rosana, but it is no less loving, no less heated. Samothes finds the ties holding his clothes in place and Hadiran is being undressed by his god, stripped bare. He shudders, and Samothes' hands are on him, soothing and gentle, caressing his chest and belly and buttocks.

"Anchorite," he says. "How do you want him?"

Rosana considers for a moment. Her eyes move lazily along the length of Hadrian's body, appraising. He's burning like filament, caught between them, her eyes and His hands.

"Let him take Your place," she says at last. "Let him follow Your example."

Hadrian can feel Samothes' smile more than he can see it. His Lord lifts him as though he weighs nothing, and Hadrian squeaks, undignified. Rosana giggles and then he is between her spread legs and she is open and ready for him, her flushed skin slick and shining.

Her own come drips down her belly to mingle with Samothes’. His seed is dripping out of her, and Hadrian doesn't know how he can take His place, but then Samothes' hands are on his hips, on his arms, on the small of his back, guiding him into position.

"Just like that," says Samothes," his voice a rumble in Hadrian's ear. His chest is pressed flush against Hadrian's back, solid and muscular and incredibly warm. His Lord burns with the heat of the sun, with the heat of a forge.

Rosana burns even hotter. There's no resistance when he pushes into her, she's slick and loose and the heat of her is incredible, earth-shaking. Hadrian gasps and stutters, his fingers spasming where he grips her thighs and she moans, loud enough for her voice to echo in the small, dark room.

"Hadrian," she says, and she's practically sobbing. Messy and already fucked-out, but still so desperate, so wanting. She has had their Lord and yet she still wants _him_. Hadrian is no scholar (that is her province, Rosana the theologian, Rosana the Anchorite) but he thinks there must be blasphemy in that. Surely, it is in a sin to prefer a mortal's hands to that of the divine. He can't imagine that it isn't, so he holds her tighter and moves against her more urgently, fingers digging into her flesh. His wife, his bright star.

Underneath him, she is half-mad with pleasure, crying out as she clenches tight around him.

He comes not long after, spilling inside her. When he pulls out, it drips down her thighs, and Hadrian wants very badly to lick it up. Instead, he cleans her with his shirt, gentle and tender because she must be so overstimulated, so sensitive.

"Rosana," he says, and he repeats it like a prayer. "I love you."

She laughs, exhausted, and pulls him down to kiss him. He sags against her and she wraps her arms around him, shaping herself into the big spoon. They fall asleep like that and they don't realize until morning that they're alone once again.


End file.
